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I don't feel when I'm not outside. Felt the wild light of the sun descending/my being. The remnants of the birds' song, the run of the river, on and on. Lately, the house had been full. Her lost somewhere in the tall grass, her perfect face and form. The gold as the sun passed. I left. Who was our next guest? I'll remember this time fondly, she said. Here is everything but I'm looking outside. Here is also, the outside.